


Hatred

by mountainside



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Alcohol, Angry Sex, Angst, Begging, Bottom Lucio (The Arcana), Choking, Drinking, Hate fucking, Lucio is a little shit, M/M, Rough Sex, Submissive Lucio (The Arcana)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-21
Updated: 2019-10-21
Packaged: 2020-12-27 06:07:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21113945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mountainside/pseuds/mountainside
Summary: A drunk Obayana goes to confront Lucio. Hate-fuckery ensuesSide note I really can’t write serious summaries.





	Hatred

**Author's Note:**

> Here we go, just a bunch of hate fucking. I haven’t edited so if there’s like glaring mistakes, sorry.  
Enjoy!

A burning elixir, the whiskey slides down Obayana’s throat as he drinks unceremoniously from the bottle. He’d hoped the amber liquid would quell the pain rising in his chest, the loss carving a gaping crater in his soul. With every noxious sip, his pain seeps instead into a seething, toxic venom, coursing through his blood like that of a viper’s.  
The earth rises to meet each stumble as he barrels through the streets of Vesuvia, sliding into a hidden passage covered in winding vines. Agony and grief reverberate in his bones, their song a bubbling lava radiating off his skin as he storms dizzily up a narrow staircase, being drawn deeper into the palace.  
He’d force the bastard of a man to face all he’d done. The death, the pain, the plague was _his fault. _ The knowledge weighs on his reeling mind, a flood of renewed hatred drowning him- spurring him as he slams into the count’s bedroom door.  
It’s much too late for staff-for anyone- to hear the echo of Obayana splintering the wood as he nearly tears it off the hinges.  
His heart pounds in his chest, an angry beast ramming the cage of his ribs. The whiskey bottle shatters against the stone of the doorway, glass shards biting olive-wood skin. Rubellite liquid trickles from the wounds, their owner too full of rage to feel.  
The curled mass leaps from his slumber as the sound reaches the count’s ears. Bewildered, he stares at the hulking, bleeding figure standing in his doorway- momentary shock melting away into a defiant sneer.  
“Oba, how nice to see you. At _ this _ hour too? What do I owe the-“  
“Shut the fuck up.” Obayana grinds out, voice like grating stones, “J- just shut _ thefuckup.” _ Threatening, he jabs the broken bottle in Lucio’s direction, his intoxicated aim off by a few inches.  
“You’re drunk.” Lucio raises an eyebrow, sliding from the bed like a toxic sludge.  
The taller man points the jagged glass at his enemy, “This is your fucking fault.”  
“No need for profanities, we’re friends here.” Lucio sighs, pours wine from his bedside decanter, running a hand through aureate locks.  
“We’re not friends, Lucio.” He spits the name like a curse, as if he’d hoped the sound of it could spear him through the heart and kill him.  
“I’m hurt.” Words weightless, he sips the viscous burgundy.  
His nonchalant attitude does nothing but set flame to Obayana’s wrath, it swells, a pressure in his pounding skull. His mind struggles for words, to weave iron hot rage into cohesion.  
“You’re disgusting.” The words a toxin, dripping from his tongue, the floor seeming to rock beneath him.  
“I disgust you?” Obayana hadn’t noticed him walking closer, bare feet quiet on the marble, lithe fingers setting down the wineglass on the oak wood vanity. “And what will you do about it, _ baker?” _ He speaks the profession as an insult, leaning forward into Obayana’s proximity, unyielding silver challenging sage as he stares him down. Golden fingers brush under the man’s chin, feline and toying.  
Sandpaper hands slam the smaller man’s shoulders into the wall, a growl gurgling from Obayana’s throat.  
“Don’t touch me.”  
The plague-bringer just grins back at him, the Cheshire expression twisting alabaster skin, eyes lidded.  
Lightning-like rage shoots through Obayana’s spine, chased at the heels but something his intoxicated mind can not quite place.  
“I believe _ you’re _ touching _ me.” _ The words a purr, teasing, daring-  
Obayana begs himself to crack his skull against the man’s forehead, to knock him out of consciousness- to shut his pretty little mouth so fast he bites his tongue as it curls around vinegared insults.  
Instead, as if possessed, his lips find purchase against the count’s, silencing the poison that spews from them.  
The kiss is a magma-heat, searing with all the vexation flowing through the baker. Hard teeth clack against the count’s, blood-stained hands pressing him to the wall. Lucio moans into the man’s mouth, his knees buckling, wanton hips grinding against his thigh- only fueling Obayana’s spite further.  
Gripping the count’s thin shoulders, he shoves him onto the mattress, uncaring.  
“Strip.” He grunts, yanking at his own belt. His face pinches in anger as count blinks wide-eyed at him, red blush painting his cheeks.  
“Now.” Obayana barks, and is sickly satisfied to see the man scrambling to remove his nightclothes.  
His weatherbeaten hands slide down the count’s chest, pressing him to the bedsheets. Lucio’s back arches, throbbing cock begging to be touched- but Obayana won’t give him the satisfaction. Instead he lifts ivory legs over his shoulders as Lucio fumbles to hand him crystalline bottle of lube.  
He presses a thick digit against the count’s entrance, pride and hatred blending together as Lucio moans, his untouched, reddened cock bobbing angrily at the neglect.  
He’s not gentle with preparations, he fucks him hard with his hand, teasing until Lucio is disheveled before him, keening, his body twisting for more friction- more pressure.  
_ “Pl-please!” _ The count cries, tears sliding from the corners of his eyes, smudged eyeliner marring his skin. He tries to wrench his wrists from the larger man’s grip, to wrap his own fingers around his desperate cock, but Obayana, as if made of stone, is unmoved.  
Spurred by his own agonizing need for release, Obayana rips his hand away from the heat. Lucio whines in protest, his hips bucking, chasing the friction.  
Lucio’s whine morphs into a scream as Obayana takes him, ramming his length into the count’s entrance in a single thrust. A gargantuan hand wraps around the count’s throat, slowed oxygen making Lucio’s body thrum with pleasure.  
Having this powerful man beneath him, ruining him, is a drug to him as Obayana slams his hips into the count’s. He watches the unsavory face of his enemy contort in pain and pleasure, fingers twist to grip the sheets as they’re pinned under his own. Strings of moaned curses fall from pale lips, mingling with the thudding of Lucio’s head against the headboard.  
Obayana swallows his own moans, refusing to give away how good the tight heat of the man feels. Lucio pulls at his hand and he releases his neck, taking note of the bruises left behind.  
_ “Ngh.. _ I’m so close, please-“ Lucio writhes underneath him, whining between pants, _ “pl-please _ touch me.”  
Reluctantly, Obayana releases the count’s bruised wrists, pleasure shuddering through him as he watches Lucio wrap his fingers around himself. The man’s back arches at the touch, and Obayana shakes, the rhythm of his hips begins to slip.  
Orgasm tears through Lucio first, the count screaming curses as his body curves like a bow. Pearlescent cum stains the expensive sheets.  
The convulsing around him is too much for Obayana, groaning as the pleasure wrecks him, his orgasm washing over him so forcefully that he can barely hold himself upright.  
He waits a few moments to stop shaking, pulling out from the count with a grunt. He pulls his shirt back over his head, ignoring the blond staring incredulously at him.  
“You’re not staying?”  
Obayana ignores him as if he wasn’t there, slowly redressing. He walks to the shattered doorway, his stride unfaltering even as he hears Lucio call after him.  
“You’ll come back. They _ always _ come back!”


End file.
